


Cold Hearts And Empty Heads

by telperion_15



Category: Primeval
Genre: Angry Sex, Dubious Consent, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-29
Updated: 2012-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-30 07:23:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/329251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telperion_15/pseuds/telperion_15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lyle's had a bad day, and Lester misjudges the situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Hearts And Empty Heads

**Author's Note:**

> A note about OCs:  
> Primeval fandom on LiveJournal has generated a number of fanon OCs, created by different authors and freely used by others, to the extent that some of them have now taken on lives of their own. The one that appears in this fic, Lyle, belongs to fredbassett.

When James Lester got home that night, he found Jon Lyle waiting for him in his living room, sprawled across an armchair. The flinty look in the lieutenant’s eyes, the hard set of his mouth, and the tension in every line of his body were all things that Lester had learned to recognise as signs that his lover was spoiling for a fight.

“Do sit up straight, you’re making the place look untidy,” he said snidely, unwilling to ask point blank what the matter was, and yet knowing that his sarcasm was likely to exacerbate the situation rather than calm it.

“Why don’t you ask me what I did today?” said Lyle flatly, not moving an inch.

Lester sighed. “What did you do today?” he enquired obediently, as he shrugged off his jacket and hung it neatly over the back of a chair.

“I watched two civilians die, and saw one of my men carted off to hospital with half his limbs hanging off.” Lyle’s tone was still emotionless, but his posture had, if possible, become even more rigid.

“Oh.” Lester wasn’t often lost for words, but on this occasion he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Oh? Is that all you can say?” Suddenly Lyle was angry. “Good people died today, James. And more people will probably die tomorrow. And all you can say is ‘oh’?”

“Of course, the losses are regrettable…” Lester murmured.

“Oh, spare me your civil service platitudes,” said Lyle disgustedly. “Why don’t you try doing something useful for once?”

“Such as…?”

“More men. More resources. We need to stop reacting and actually _do_ something.”

“Now you sound like Professor Cutter,” muttered Lester.

“You really have no idea, do you? What it’s like out there? You sit in your clean, safe office and send good men to their deaths, and you just don’t care.”

“Now, hang on a minute…”

Lyle was on him before Lester was even aware he’d moved, and suddenly a pair of unforgiving lips were clamped over his, harsh and demanding as Lyle’s hand tangled in his hair, pulling his head back painfully. Lyle kissed him hard and brutally, in a gesture that owed nothing to affection, and everything to anger and despair.

When he was finally released, Lester resisted the urge to lift a hand to his lips to see if they were really as swollen and bruised as they felt. He was suddenly intensely aware that the man pressed against him was a trained killer, capable of things Lester didn’t really want to imagine, despite the fact that his job often required him to.

“Jon…”

“We’re not robots, you know.” Lyle’s words trampled over the beginning of Lester’s plea. “We may be trained to deal better with the kind of things we see, but that doesn’t mean they don’t affect us. Do you know what it’s like to see a colleague die in front of you? Or to have to leave an injured member of your unit behind because you know he’ll slow you down? Of course you don’t. You have no idea.”

Each word out of Lyle’s mouth was angrier and more bitter than the one before it, and Lester felt a sudden flicker of fear at the fury the soldier was displaying. He tried again. “Jon…”

But Lyle was no longer listening. “Shut up,” he hissed savagely, before kissing Lester again, forcing his tongue past Lester’s lips, taking what he wanted without asking. The hand that wasn’t clamped around the base of Lester’s neck was crumpling Lester’s pristine white shirt as he yanked it out of the waistband of Lester’s immaculately tailored trousers.

There was a brief moment of cold as Lyle stepped away and pushed Lester round until he was braced against an occasional table. Lester’s hands slid on the lacquered surface, and as his mind shied away from contemplating whether Jon would actually go through with what he was threatening, Lester inanely wondered whether the spindly piece of furniture would take his weight for long enough.

Lyle dragged his trousers and boxers down over his hips, and Lester suddenly knew this _was_ going to happen, and that he wouldn’t be able to stop it. He heard Lyle spit on his hand, and felt the sudden cold certainty that that would be all the lubrication he was going to get. This was going to hurt, and Jon didn’t appear to care.

As he felt the head of Lyle’s cock pressing against his arse, Lester tried to relax. Fighting this wasn’t going to help – it would only make it worse. But he couldn’t quite manage it, and the sharp flash of pain as Lyle suddenly pushed deep inside him made him gasp out loud and drop his head as he tried to breathe through it.

But he was allowed no time to adjust, no time to let the pain subside before Lyle pulled back raggedly and then drove himself in again. And again. And again.

Every rough thrust elicited another low moan from Lester’s throat. Fuck, it hurt. It _more_ than hurt. But he couldn’t make Jon stop, and he was afraid to ask him in case he didn’t. What if he didn’t?

And yet not _all_ the moans were about pain. Lester knew that Ryan and Hart enjoyed pain games – it was hard _not_ to know, the way the soldiers gossiped. But he’d never envisaged himself getting off on it.

But even though it burned, and the dry drags of Lyle’s cock felt like they were tearing him apart, there was pleasure in this too. Every so often Lyle would brush his prostate and a ripple of something that wasn’t pain would flicker through him. His own cock was hard now, and he could feel his orgasm uncoiling as Lyle continued to use and abuse his body, the soldier’s breaths so harsh as to almost be grunts.

Shit, this was fucked up. And yet Lester knew he was going to come, and come hard, no matter how much his brain was insisting this was completely and utterly wrong.

All it took was one particularly vicious thrust from Lyle that felt as if it had skewered him, and Lester was coming all over the table, his cock twitching and his arse clenching around Lyle’s cock. He heard Jon’s sharp intake of breath as he too came, and for a few seconds pleasure and pain were all mixed up together. And it felt despicably good.

Then there was silence, as Lester leaned heavily on the table, and Lyle leaned heavily on him, his cock still buried in Lester’s body.

“Shit.” The word was barely above a whisper, and Lester felt it more than heard it as Lyle’s breath ghosted across the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, James.” He pulled back abruptly, and Lester gritted his teeth against a fresh wave of pain. He took a second or two to steady himself, and then deliberately reached down and pulled his trousers up, fastening them firmly and tucking his shirt in.

When he finally looked round, Lyle had retreated back to his armchair. He’d curled up in it like a small child, and had his head buried in the crook of his arm. He looked like a little boy playing the ‘if I can’t see you then you can’t see me’ game, hiding in the only way available to him at the moment.

Lester was shocked. He’d never seen Lyle looking quite so vulnerable. He crossed the room and crouched down in front of the chair, laying a hand on Lyle’s thigh. “Jon…?”

Lyle flinched visibly at the touch. “God, I’m sorry.” His voice was muffled, but Lester still heard the repeated apology.

“Shut up,” he said firmly. “Don’t apologise.”

“Don’t apologise?” Lyle raised his head abruptly and gave a short, bitter laugh. “How can you bear to touch me? How can you bear to be near me?”

“Stop it,” said Lester sharply, all thoughts of recrimination flying out of his head. “You had a bad day, that’s all.”

“A bad day? When most people have a bad day they have a drink. Or an argument. Or go for a run. Or in your case, unleash their sarcastic tongue. They don’t practically rape their partners.”

Lester successfully held down his own flinch. “That’s not what happened,” he said. “Did you see me fighting you off?”

“I doubt you could if you tried,” Lyle muttered.

“Maybe not,” Lester allowed. “But the point is, I didn’t try. And you might have noticed that I did in fact come. Clearly I wasn’t too bothered by your…activities.”

“You can justify it all you like, but I know what I did.”

“And so do I,” said Lester stubbornly. He squeezed Lyle’s thigh slightly. “Jon, it’s okay. It’ll be okay,” he said softly. Then he stood up – his knees couldn’t sustain the crouch, and although he would never say so, every time he shifted his weight his sore arse protested. Reaching down he placed his fingers under Lyle’s chin and forced the other man to look up at him. “I’m sorry about your man, Jon,” he said, quietly and deliberately. “And I’m sorry about the people who died.” He sighed. “I know you want to do more. Hell, I may not show it, but _I_ want to do more. But for the moment we’re just going to have to do the best we can. Unfortunately, it’s not always good enough.”

“I know,” Lyle acknowledged. “And thank you.”

Lester slid his hand up the side of Lyle’s face to cup his cheek briefly, and then ruffled his short hair with his fingers, earning an annoyed glare in the process. He tried not to smile – annoyed was definitely preferable to the emptiness that had been reflected in Jon’s eyes a few moments previously, but he didn’t think Jon was quite ready for smiles yet.

“Well, since you’ve had a bad day, how about a drink? I think we could both do with one.”


End file.
